snowflakes up the skyway
by all the lost souls
Summary: AU. "The last things she remembered were a nurse coming to inject her with some transparent liquid, a glimpse of the boy's sapphire grey eyes again, and then; nothing. Just a blackness that seemed to go on forever."
1. Chapter 1

-it's december and i wanted to write something christmas-related, so here it is.

songs; skyway - the replacements & my december - linkin park. enjoy :)

(disclaimed.)

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one; **trapped under ice.**

;

Winter came down to our home one night  
Quietly pirouetting in on silvery-toed slippers of snow,  
And we, we were children once again.  
~Bill Morgan, Jr.

;

She remembers lying on her back in the snow late in the afternoon, eyes trained on the unmoving clouds scattered across the winter-white sky.

She remembers the exact shades of the fallen leaves that flecked the shimmering layer of whiteness covering the ground, their brilliant golden hues shifting as the rays of the pale sun riveted between the shadows of the trees, the smell of unspoken words hanging in the air. She remembers being fascinated by the light reflecting off the ice that glistened on the leafless branches, the feel of the soft snow under her fingertips cold and familiar. She remembers feeling completely at peace, and wanting this perfect winter-wonderlandesque moment to never end, for that heartbeat to stretch into infinity.

And then… something else shifted into her view, blocking her from her winter paradise. A coat, with a dark head attached to it.

She was vaguely aware of that someone bending down, and she caught a glimpse of a pair of bright blue-gray eyes- like the sapphires in the old jewelry box upstairs in the attic, the ones her grandma used to wear around her neck at dinner parties and such. In contrast with their dead, frozen surroundings, they seemed closer to… She fumbled, trying to put her thoughts into words, but came up blank. That's all she could manage; they seemed closer to being _blank_ than anything in her world right now.

She wanted to be angry at the person for standing in the way of her and the silent magical beauty that engulfed them, but anger – an emotion – was to tiring to conjure right now. She just wanted to sleep. She couldn't think, couldn't feel, anymore. She inhaled, slowly, her chest aching uncomfortably at the exaggerated movement. He smelt like snow, vanilla and a faint trace of aftershave. Like Christmas day when she used to spend it with her dad at Rockefeller centre, when they went to visit Grandma in New York City. She felt her eyelids droop, suddenly very sleepy. An urgent murmur tickled her ear, the boy's warm breath contrasting with the icy coldness of the air, forming small puffs of mist that slowly dissipated into the air.

There was a light pressure on her hand, and she opened her eyes again. The boy's lips were tipped down in a frown, and something about his expression seemed familiar to her. She finally put a finger on the emotion - _anxiousness_. Why was he anxious?

His lips parted, forming words that she could just barely make out.

_Don't go to sleep._

She doesn't remember much of what happened after that. The boy must have called someone, because she remembers strangers crowding around her. Some of them mouthing into walkie-talkies, some of them carrying a stretcher. She remembers bits and pieces – the piercing sensation of pain shooting through her body, her grip around the boy's arm tightening, almost vice-like. Twigs snapping, footsteps in the snow, the distant sound of ambulances, their shrill cry perturbing the quietness of the forest. A man in a blue coat, multiple badges pinned on his sleeve, one voice among many, assessing the damage, telling her she was going to be okay.

One familiar pair of tired brown eyes stood out from the crowd. _Dad. _She wanted to reach out to him, ask him a thousand questions, but her mouth wouldn't work. The last things she remembered were a nurse coming to inject her with some transparent liquid, a glimpse of the boy's sapphire grey eyes again, and then; nothing.

Just a blackness that seemed to go on forever.

* * *

;

**-nikki.**

The rattling of the windows and the melodic chirping of a starling on the branches outside stirred me out of my confused dream. A cold gust of wind blew into the room, and I shiver, trying to untangle the mess my sheets are in. I curl up against the pillow and squeeze my eyes shut. The rhythmic _drip-drip-drip _of the rain hitting the windowsill distracts me from falling asleep again, and too soon, my alarm starts to sound, screaming electronic obscenities in my ear.

I pull the sheets up to my neck, muttering something about winter birds and ice, when I notice the drops of water sliding down the wall until they soaked the corner of the rug next to the bookcase. I blink. Quick as a flash, I'm out of bed and stumbling across the room to the window. My still-asleep fingers fumble with the latch on the window, and I briefly remember forgetting to shut them the night before.

Since there's no point in going back to sleep, I flick on the heating, sighing, then raid my wardrobe for something warm. I pull on a grey sweater and brush my hair back into a ponytail, then head downstairs. Dad is sitting in his armchair next to the fireplace, a newspaper laid out in front of him. The radio murmuring in the background gives the room the quaint feel it deserves. "Good morning, honey."

"Shh. Don't talk to me. I'm not awake yet."

He chuckles, but I don't find the energy to glare at him. Instead, I locate my slippers on the front porch, then wander into the kitchen. A plate of waffles is set out on the table, but I ignore it and head to the small coffee machine instead, flipping the switch on and letting its do its magic. While I'm waiting, I hunt down my favourite red ceramic mug, humming the soft tune of Owl City's Rainbow Veins, until the small black device emits a familiar _ding!, _not dissimilar to the toaster's. I pour the thick black liquid into my mug, adding some milk and sugar, then dp the same for Dad.

I cross the worn rug to the living room and hand him his mug, sinking down into the couch in front of the unlit fire while Dad folds up his newspaper and set it on the table. He takes a sip from his mug, his brown eyes level, analyzing me.

"Are you feeling better today?"

I take another sip of the coffee resting in my hands, letting the hot liquid warm up my throat. "Mm."

His lips quirk up in approval, and his expression lightens, relief flagrant in his eyes. "Put on something sensible and warm, all right? It's getting colder outside."

As if on cue, the crackly voice on the radio says something about temperatures dropping to twelve degrees Celsius this morning. I mumble something incoherent about alarm clocks, and Dad nods like he understands me. "Do you want me to drive you to school?"

I shake my head. "No, s'okay. I can walk."

He frowns slightly, then makes a submissive noise and picks up his newspaper again. He quickly leafs through it until he finds the right page, and I turn to examine the painting that hung above the fireplace.

"Do you mind if I sit in the library for a while?"

The library is the warmest place in the house, and it had the added bonus of a wonderful smell of old books in it.

He doesn't glance up from the article he's reading. I know what he's going to say before his mouth forms the words.

"Just don't get any stains on the leather."

;


	2. Chapter 2

disclaimed.

-dedications to dez, ericka and leesh. sorry if i slacked with this. i'm sick and my brain's not working right.

songs for this chapter; snowbound - genesis and winter wonderland - animal collective. and anything by snow patrol(:

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two; **these are my snow-covered dreams**

;

"… the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter.  
Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn't show."  
~Andrew Wyeth

;

**-before.**

The deadness of the woods scared me.

Apart from the occasional twig snapping under my shoes, or the crunch of the last fallen leaves, now ripped and half-frozen, ghosts of their former selves, the lifeless silence that hung between the trees was impossible to deny. The only sign life I can determine is a flash of orange against white. My eyes lock with the fox's, but its white-tipped tail vanishes into a bush before I can get a real glimpse of it.

I glance backwards, eyes searching for the familiar blinding light of the torches, but the murmur of voices and the thump of footsteps sinking into the snow is long gone, and I wonder if I should turn back and try to find the others.

But I stop when I see a piece of burnt metal lying on the ground, my eyes drifting to the nearest tree, an oak with a large bumper-sized dent in its trunk. My heart races, my eyes scanning the woods, anticipation hammering in my chest.

And then I see her.

Her small frame is sprawled over the blood-tainted snow, left elbow bent at an irregular angle, dark blonde hair framing her delicate features. Her clothes are torn and bloody, her cheeks bruised, lips tipped into a grimace. As I step closer to her, her eyelids flutter open, and her brown eyes meet mine. A flash of some incomprehensible emotion shines through them before she blinks again and it's gone.

I reach for her hand, wincing as she shudders slightly at the contact, but I lean in and tell her to stay awake. Her eyes open again, and a hint of relief flows through me. _She's not dead yet._  
"Don't go to sleep" I tell her, reaching into my coat pocket for my phone, dialing a number I know by heart. Her fingers clasp around my forearm, her eyes questioning, and I reach out with my other hand to stroke her hair. I want to tell her it'll be okay, but I don't want to make any promises I can't keep.

It takes ten minutes for the ambulances and paramedics to get here. They try to lift her up into a stretcher, and her grip on my arm tightens. I reluctantly pry my arm away from her. Sheriff Thompson stands over her, assuring her she will be okay, and I watch, horrified, as she thrashes, struggling against the straps that are holding her down, until a nurse has to inject with a clear liquid to calm her down. Her eyes meet mine one last time through the crowd before she falls unconscious and the back door of the ambulance shuts, locking me out.

I lean against a tree, shaken, dimly aware of policemen drawing lines and examining the long-forgotten dent in the oak, taking measurements and discussing and comparing statistics. The ambulance has driven off by now, but other people linger, too, some of them just interested, their expressions a mixture of horror and fascination. Through the chaos, a man approaches me. His face is drawn, eyes wary.

"Thank you." He tells me.

I blink, my mind slowly drifting back to reality. "For what?"

I notice that his eyes are the same shade of brown as the girl's.

"For finding her."

I nod, exhaustion seeping through me. The girl's father places a hand on my shoulder, his tired eyes a mixture of relief and gratitude. Then he walks back to where Sherriff Thomson and his deputies are standing. I stand up, brushing my bloody hands on my jeans, then wander deeper into the forest. I slump against a tree, closing my eyes, images of the broken, bloody angel flashing before my eyes like an old black-and-white film.

Dad manages to find me after a while, and he helps me up. "Come on, son" He says as he leads me back to the car. His tone is firm, but there's a gentleness in his blue eyes. "Let's get you home."

;

**-landon.**

"Hey, do you guys mind if we stop at the Bean for donuts and a coffee?"

I turn my gaze from the droplets of rain running down the window to Josh. The Bean, or rather, The Westchester Bean, was a small coffee shop on the east side of town owned by the Abeleys. It was renowned for its sugar-coated donuts and for Fawn, Chris's girlfriend and apparently the prettiest girl at school, who spent most of her afternoons there. My eyes drift to the dashboard. We still had plenty of time before school started.

"Yeah, okay."

Kemp makes a noise of approval from the back. Josh's eyes light up with relief and he grins at me. "Great" he says. "I'm starving."

Five minutes later, we pull into the coffee shop's small parking lot. The shop is warm and cozy, a nice change from the harshness of the weather outside. Josh gets our orders while Kemp and I find a table. Josh comes back with three donuts and three cups of coffee with the _Bean's_ insignia on them, placing them on the table and pulling back a chair to sit on.

I pick up the donut and take a bite, the sugar melting into my mouth. When I'm done, my fingers drum lightly on the wooden table, and I turn to Josh.

"So how's Claire?"

Josh makes a face. "We're not together anymore. It was kind of a mutual break-up. I mean, she's the one who suggested it, but I didn't really care, y'know?"

Kemp snorts. "Sure you didn't. Keep telling yourself that, Joshie. We all know you still sleep with the teddy she gave you for your two-month anniversary last year."

Josh glares at Kemp. "Says the guy who spends his weekends watching _Angus, Thongs and Perfect Snogging._"

Kemp rolls his eyes. "That was _one time_. And I was babysitting my cousin." A smirk creeps onto his face as he goes on. "Besides, I have proof to my theory. Didn't you spend most of the campfire begging Dylan to tell you if Claire had said anything about you?" He shook his head. "You are so clueless. Dylan and Claire aren't even friends."

Josh balled up his tissue and threw it at Kemp, who smirked again as it missed and landed on the floor. The lady at the counter glared at them.

Kemp waggled his eyebrows and I take another sip of my coffee.

"Hey Landon, do you play soccer?"

I give him a blank stare. Josh rolls his eyes at Kemp. "Football" He translates.

Kemp throws his arms up into the air, exasperated. "Same difference."

Josh stares at Kemp like he's just grown a third head. "You realize that makes zero sense, right?" Kemp ignores him, looking at me pointedly for an answer. I shrug.

"I guess."

Josh gives his watch a cursory glance before pushing his chair back. "Guys, we should go."

I drain my coffee cup, then stand up, and Kemp does the same. We head to the door, but one of the waitresses stops us. "You can't go out" She says.

Kemp crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Why not?" He demands.

She points outside, and my eyes shift to the window. The soft splatters of the rain hitting the roof has turned into hail, and the random _thump-thump-thump_ resonated through the room as the small balls of ice rocketed off the roof. He groans. "Great" He mutters, slouching into the nearest chair. Josh takes a seat next to him, and I follow.

We sit there in silence, listening to the low murmurings of the radio in the corner of the room, until the hail subsides. Kemp takes out his iPhone, and I stare blankly at the sidewalk as we wait, and twenty minutes pass before the waitress comes back and tells us we can go. The door opens with a little _ding!_, admitting a cold rush of air and a group of old ladies. We slip past them and onto the street, heading for Josh's car.

My sneakers slosh in the puddles, the small water crystals quickly soaking my sweater so it clung to my skin, and I hold back a shiver. Kemp runs a hand through his dripping hair, sidestepping a puddle as he opens the car door.

"Shit, what time is it?"

Josh smirks. "Summe-" Kemp cuts him off with a glare.

"Don't say it." He warns. Josh smirks, sliding the key into ignition and starting the car. As he pulls out of the parking lot, I glance at the dashboard, the fluorescent green numbers glaring back at me, highlighting our tardiness.

"What d'you have first, anyways?" Josh asks, as the car slows down at a traffic light.

I go through my schedule in my head. "French, I think" He laughs.

"Madame Bellemont? She's going to eat you. Literally pour some Bearnaise sauce on you and-" He's interrupted by Kemp's incredulous laugh.

"Bern-_what?_"

Josh rolls his eyes. "It's some French sauce. You put it on fish to give it more flavor."

Kemp seems to find this hilarious. "Are you saying Landon's a fish?"

Josh shakes his head, aggravated, and doesn't bother answering. His hands turning the steering wheel as we pull into the school parking lot, and while he's sliding into a space near the end of the gate, I wonder briefly if Nikki'll come to school today. But all thoughts of Nikki are erased when I see Mrs. Richardson standing on the front step, glaring fireballs at us over her spectacles.

"Friggin hell," I hear Kemp mutter. "She's like that crazy-ass headmistress from Matilda."

And I have to admit that yes, there is a certain resemblance between Mrs. Richardson and Miss Trunchbull.

;


	3. Chapter 3

don't know how much of this will actually make sense, since everything's a little blurry at the mo -long story- but i really wanted to get it down before dinner(pizza). the title's from the coldplay song christmas lights, and you might as well listen to Phineas and Ferb's Swinter while you're there :)

as always, disclaimed.

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three;** light up the fireworks in me**

;

Of winter's lifeless world each tree  
Now seems a perfect part;  
Yet each one holds summer's secret  
Deep down within its heart.  
~Charles G. Stater

;

**-nikki.**

"Hey, Nikki."

I slam my locker door shut and turn to face Cam. He's wearing a sea-green sweater that brings out the kaleidoscopic mixture of blues and greens in his eyes, and his lips are lifted into an easy smile.

"Hey, Cam." I sift through my thoughts for an appropriate question to ask him, finally settling on one; "How was your Thanksgiving?"

He arches his eyebrows, his expression torn between amusement and confusion, and I wonder why until the date hits me. Thanksgiving was almost three weeks ago.

"Pretty good." He shrugs. "Sucks you missed the party, though."

I nod, even though I'm not really sure what he's talking about. Every year, the five of us – me, Dylan, Cam, Josh, and Chris – had a campfire out in the woods the day after Thanksgiving. This year, I was cooped up in hospital, battered and bruised, wired to an assortment of tubes and IV's, and I slept through most of the parades.

"Don't worry, the nurses there took pretty good care of me there. They even served some proper turkey instead of that disgusting soup they usually spoon-fed me."

Cam chuckles, and opens his mouth to make a joke, but Dylan beats him to it.

"_NIKSTICKS_!"

A flurry of multi-coloured pom-poms and red hair crashes into me, tackling me into a hug, and I stagger backwards against the lockers.

"Hey, Dyl."

She straightens up, a red-and-white striped candy cane hanging in her mouth. "Nice to see you back at school, walking and talking and bringing it in general." She flashes me a grin, then narrows her green eyes at Cam. "Don't try anything, Fisher. She's still confused and easy to take advantage of."

Cam's eyes widen and he raises his arms in defense, a poster child for innocence. "Hey, I'm not doing anything."

"Good. Now scoot."

Cam rolls his eyes good-naturedly, then walks off, muttering under his breath. "Crazy woman."

"I _heard_ that!" Dylan hollers across the hallway, causing the few people left milling around to turn around and stare. I laugh, before she turns to me and says, "Come on, you have to get to class." then I groan as it hits me how much work I'll have to do to catch up on the week's worth of school I'd missed.

"Hey, if anyone can achieve the immense feat of catching up on a week at Westchester High, it's you, Miss Nerd-Pants."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes, and change the subject instead. "So how was the campfire?"

She shakes her head. "We didn't have one. No one wanted to go to the woods after... you know. So we hung out in Kemp's basement till we fell asleep." She shrugs. "It would've been more fun with you there. But Landon's a first-class scary-story teller. It gave me the shivers."

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Landon?" Dad had mentioned someone by that name in the hospital when I first woke up, but the memory was all fuzzy and it didn't make sense to me.

"Yeah, y'know, Landon Crane? Five foot eleven, dark brown hair, blue-ish eyes, slight British accent? Moved here about three weeks ago?" She pauses, biting her lip. "Your dad says he's the one who found you in the woods." She examines my reaction to her bringing up the accident, but I just blink.

"Landon," I say, testing the unfamiliar/familiar words on my tongue. "Landon Crane." It's strange to finally have a name to go with that pair of blue-gray eyes that stood out in the snow. The memory seems impossibly distant, like it had happened a lifetime ago, instead of just a couple of measly weeks. The scars and bruises and the delicate way people treated me, like I was going to fall apart any minute. Post-traumatic stress, Dr. Kingston had said.

Dylan gives me a half-amused, half-what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you look. I shake off my thoughts, and voice the curiosity bent by her words. "_He_ was at Kemp's house ?"

She waved her hand in a blasé manner. "Mm, yeah. We met him at the hospital the day of the-" She cuts herself off and gives me an apologetic look. "Turns out he and Cam know each other a bit. His mom went to college with Landon's mom before she moved to the UK and married Mr. Crane. He's a good guy." She clarifies.

We made our way through the maze of corridors, already decorated with reindeers, miniature Santa's and shiny plastic balls, despite there being almost a month till Christmas, until we reach Room 512. Madame Bellamont isn't happy about us being late, but she doesn't say anything to me because apparently I've been through enough quote-unquote "traumatic experiences" in the past few weeks to last a while. Instead, she purses her lips disapprovingly, and waits while we take a seat in the back row.

My phone buzzes in my pocket with a new message.

_Nice to see you back at school without any broken bones, Niks._

–_Chris._

I glance around the classroom and find him sitting next to a bunch of guys on the football team, near the windows. He catches my eye and smiles.

Hey, Plovert. How was your thanksgiving? –N x

_Would've been better if you were there. You look better that the last time I saw you._

Care to elaborate?

_Spewing your guts all over the floor. The memory of Nikki Dalton at her lowest is forever imprinted in my mind._

I shudder at the memory. I don't even remember him being there. But then again, as Dylan put it, I was "confused". _Shut up_, I text back, and, just as I press the send button the door swings open, and Landon Crane walks in.

His dark brown hair gleams with the drops of rain caught in it, his skin pale from the cold, cheeks flushed slightly red. His eyes are exactly like I remember them, the same colour as the sky just before a storm hits. They seemed to outshine everything else in the dimly-lit classroom. Madame Bellamont looks up from the textbook she's reading out loud from, taking in his disheveled appearance and the drops of water sliding down the tips of his hair and dripping onto the carpet, and an amused sparkle enters her dark eyes.

"Monsieur Crane, je vous remercie de vous joindre à nous."

Landon looks sheepish. "Sorry I'm late, Madame. I-" She waves off his excuse, and, with a flourish, takes the slip of paper from his hand, scribbling her signature on it and shoving it back at him.

"Prenez une chaise, Landon."

As he walks past us, his blue-gray gaze falls on me, and a shiver goes up my back as I remember the pain that'd shot through my body when they'd tried to lift up my broken body.

_That car banged you up pretty bad, didn't it, Nikki?_

He takes up a seat behind Chris, who turns around to high-five him.

The rest of the lesson is uneventful. Madame Bellemont finishes up her lesson on conjugating the subjunctive seconds before the bell rings, and then claps her hands together as everyone starts to pack up.

"Next lesson, vee shall be making some crêpes, and then we shall watch How Ze Grinch Stole Christmas avec les_ sous-titres en Francais_. _Bien_?"

A collective cheer goes through the class as people realize this means no work, and I smile. My eyes meet Landon's across the classroom, and I blink, disorientated, because the intensity of his gray eyes reminds me too much of the feel of the snow pressing against my skin… and suddenly the classroom flickers and for a second we're in the woods again, and its cold but I don't feel it because his eyes are holding mine with some incomprehensible secret, and-

There's a random flash of white and then it goes black as my ears start ringing and I squeeze my eyes shut to lock it all out.

"Nikki? You okay?"

I open my eyes again and Dylan's standing in front of me, frowning. Her teeth are cutting into her bottom lip and her face is etched with worry. I look behind her - the classroom's almost empty, and Madame Bellemont has disappeared into the staff room . "Do you need to go to the nurse?"

I shake my head. "I'm fine." When she doesn't look convinced, I reach up entwine my fingers with a couple of strands of hair. "The doctor said something like this might happen. Semi-blackouts or whatever." I explain, a sigh escaping my lips. "Especially if I don't eat enough." I add, thinking about the black coffee I had for breakfast. "But I'm fine, really."

She presses her lips together, then reaches for me and pulls me into a hug. Tears threaten to spill and I feel another pair of arms encircle me as Chris comes up behind me and crushes us against his chest in a bear hug. "We thought you were going to die, Niks" Dylan says. I hug her harder, and then suddenly giggle through my tears, even though there's nothing really funny about it. But I'm bubbling with so much relief that things are back to normal that I don't care.

"S'okay, you guys, really. I'm fine."

Chris pulls back and scrutinizes me to see if I'm telling the truth. I sigh. "Okay, guys, we should get to class." I pick up the bag I've slung over my chair and stand up. "I missed you guys." I add, a smile curling my lips. Dylan grins at me, the relief in her eyes unmasked.

"We missed you too."

I sniffle, then laugh at the ridiculousness of everything, but a small part of me still reverberates with the echo of sadness. "Kay, I'll catch up in a second. I just want to stop at the bathroom."

;

I wash my face, grateful that I didn't bother with any makeup this morning and so there wasn't any mascara streaking down my face, and pull the sleeves of my sweater, which I'd pushed up to my elbows during French, down so they warmed my hands. I step out of the warm light of the bathroom onto the linoleum floor of the corridor, my breath coming out in a sigh for the fourth time this morning.

"Nikki? Are you okay?"

I turn around and Landon's standing there, his thumb caught in between a paperback, a shock of dark hair falling into his gray eyes. I start to say I'm fine, but my voice catches in my throat and no sound comes out. Instead, the tears start to fall again, and I feel a rush of anger directed at myself for having so little control over my emotions.

But instead of laughing at me for being such a pansy, I watch, frozen, as he lifts his hand and brushes his thumb across my cheek, rubbing the tears away away, then pulls his sleeve over his fist to wipe the tracks away with the fabric.

Then I realize I never thanked him for saving my life in the woods that afternoon. So I do.

He gives me a wry smile. "It'll be okay. I promise."

And I don't know why, but I believe him.

;


	4. Chapter 4

a/n I know you waited a stupidly long amount of time for this. and you guys deserve a better and longer chapter, but this one was kind of a filler. i'll definitely be updating more often now that it's Christmas break and everything :)

songs; candy cane children - the white stripes and christmas tree - lady gaga ft. space cowboy.

as always, disclaimed.

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four;** those christmas lights keep shining on**

;

In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.  
~Albert Camus.

;

**-landon.**

"Okay, I want to know what fucktard chose this music." Kemp Hurley says, slumping into his seat and kicking his legs onto the edge of the plastic table.

Principal Burns had been inspired on her daily round at Starbucks to control student's intake of caffeine and decided to play Christmas songs in the cafeteria during lunch, to "put everyone in a Christmassy mood", according to her. Louis Armstrong and the Commander's 'Cool Yule' was currently blaring out of the loudspeakers.

Chris Plovert sets his tray down next to Kemp's, sliding into the seat and casting a worried glance past me. "Are you guys sure Nikki's okay? She looks a little pale."

I turn around to see what he's talking about; Dylan and Nikki are standing in the lunch line, talking to Olivia Ryan, another girl in our year. Across the table, Josh shrugs.

"I don't know, dude. She's been through some pretty bad shit lately." He says, a troubled look crossing his eyes.

Kemp folds his arms behind his head and leans back. "So, has our little Cammiewammiekins manned up already and asked her out?" He asks, taking a sip of his Coke. I look up, frowning.

"What?" Were they still talking about Nikki?

Kemp shrugs. "Everyone's been expecting them to get together all year."

Chris throws him a pointed look to shut up as they approach our table.

Josh takes a bite from the pizza that Kemp –breaking a few school rules- had managed to order from Domino's."Anyways, the girls are going ice-skating on Saturday. Any takers?"

Kemp looks like a deer caught in a pair of headlights. "Oh, hell, _no_. Remember last time?" His eyes widen with fear.

Chris purses his lips, obviously trying not to laugh. "What happened last time?" I ask.

He turns to me. "Kemp slipped on some dry ice and ended up doing the splits. They were Olympic gold-medal worthy, mind."

Kemp glares daggers at Chris while I grimace, throwing him a sympathetic look. "Ouch."

"Hey guys. What's up?" Dylan asks, setting her tray down so that Nikki's sits in between her and Plovert.

Kemp sneers. "The sky."

Dylan grins mischievously, her green eyes flashing with mirth. "You did not just go there. And," she adds, "technically it'd be the ceiling, perv boy, not the sky."

Kemp narrows his eyes at her. "Shut up, Marvil. The scum of this earth is lower than you!"

Dylan laughs. "Yes, Kemp dear, that's how it's meant to be."

"What?"

Nikki smiles as she sits down, pulling a pair of fingerless woolen gloves off and stuffing them in her bag. Then she picks up her apple and takes a bite from it.

"Where's Cam?" She asks, and her eyes flit to mine for a second before she looks away again, and I'm reminded of how vulnerable she'd looked before, tear tracks streaking down her eyes. She was still beautiful. I push the thought to the back of my mind, because she was off-limits because Cam had got there first and Cam was my friend, so I wasn't allowed to like her.

"Football practice. He's—"

"-climbin' in your windows, he's snatchin' your people up, try to rape 'em so y'all need to, hide your kids, hide your wife!" Kemp shouts suddenly. People from the surrounding tables stop talking and stare. Even the lunch ladies stop look up from what they are doing. "and hide your husband," he adds, "cuz Cam Fisher's rapin' errbody out here!"

Nikki laughs, and Plovert buries his face in his hands. "Oh, God."

Dylan looks impressed. "Did you come up with that?"

"No, I saw it on Youtube. Have you guys really never seen it?" He shakes his head disbelievingly at our blank faces. "It's a classic." He grins. "Want to hear the second verse?"

Without anyone's consent, he breaks into song again. "You don't have to come and confess, we're lookin' for you, we gon' find you, we gon' find you, so you can run and tell that, run and tell that run and tell that, homeboy, home, hom—" .

Josh elbows him as Mr. Myner approaches, pushing his glasses back and glaring at us down his nose. "Boys, do we have a problem here?"

Dylan manages to keep a straight face. "No, Mr. Myner, we're all good, thanks."

"Ah. Plovert?"

Kemp puts on his best innocence act. "Sir?"

"Please refrain from disrupting everyone else's enjoyment of the entertainment provided so kindly by the principal. If you want to sing so badly, may I suggest joining the choir?"

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Myner nods, casting us one last hateful glance before moving on to where some freshmen were trying to stuff Tiny Nathan into the bin head-first. As soon as he's out of earshot, we burst out laughing. "Hurley," Chris says, "you should have your own TV show." Kemp stands up and bows.

Josh leans back into his chair, the hint of laughter still on his face. "So we're still set for Landon's house then, yeah?"

Nikki looks up at this. "What?"

Dylan's eyebrows knit together. "Landon's mom invited us all to come help put up their Christmas tree in the yard, remember?"

When Nikki still looks lost, understanding flashes in Dylan's eyes. "Right. You were..." There's an awkward pause and everyone shuffles, averting their gaze. Kemp breaks the ice by smirking.

"So no ice-skating?"

Dylan's lips curve into a grin again. "No ice-skating." She clarifies.

;

**-nikki.**

After lunch, Dylan and I have AP English Lit, so we cross the campus, our feet leaving tracks in the snow. A light breeze makes my hair billow slightly, and I tuck a stray strand behind my ear. The sky's painted a stormy grey, the same colour as Landon's eyes.

"Nikki?" Dylan waves a peppermint candycane in front of my face. "You okay?"

I blink, clearing my distracted thoughts. "Yeah, I'm fine."

She clearly doesn't believe me. "Niks, I have to go to the bathroom. I'll catch up to you, kay? Eat this," She says, handing me the candy cane, then throwing her arms around me for a parting hug. I sigh as I watch her retreating back, tiredness seeping through my veins. Then suddenly my feet aren't on the ground anymore. _Crap_.

I reach out with my arm to catch myself, but there's only air. I brace myself for the pain, but instead I stumble against someone, and a pair of arms encircle my waist to stop me from falling. I place my hand on the tree whose roots I'd just tripped over for support as I right myself. My cheeks are flushed from the cold, and as I spin around to see who had saved me, my breath hitches in my throat.

Oh.

My eyes widen.

"Um, thanks."

Landon laughs a little breathlessly, and I start to smile, when I realize something's missing. "Shit, my bracelet!"

I fall to my knees, scanning the glittering whiteness lying on the ground. Landon bends down, too. A flash of silver glints in the snow, and his glove disappears under the snow. He holds up the thin silver bracelet with the diamond-studded snowflake charms hanging off it in his hand.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Dad got me that bracelet last year for Christmas, and I didn't want to lose it. "You, Mr. Crane, are a lifesaver" I say, then I bite my lip as I realize what I've said. "Sorry. " I mumble, looking away. He drops the bracelet in my waiting hand and I feel his eyes scrutinizing my face as I fasten it back around my wrist. I straighten up and he runs a hand through his hair.

"All right?" I nod.

"So…" I drift off awkwardly. "You're from England, right?"

"East London, yes."

I smile. "I have an aunt in Bristol, so I've been a couple times." I grin, despite the pterodactyls stampeding around in my stomach. "Don't you find it weird how you drive on the wrong side of the road?"

He laughs, his blue-gray eyes crinkling. "No, we don't. You Americans do."

I roll my eyes. "Whatever." We've reached the front and my gloved fingers on the handle, but I don't want to go in and have to stop talking to him. "Having the steering wheel on the left side of the car just looks…_wrong."_ I push the door open, still shaking my head and smiling, when Mr. Barton looks up from his desk.

"Ah, Miss Dalton. How nice of you to join us" He drawls. "Please take your seat so we can get started." He turns to face the class. "The rest of you can turn to page 17 of your scripts and read Scrooge's monologue quietly while I go get some coffee. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." The class echoed, while someone else coughed "Bah, humbug."

He gives a satisfied nod before walking past me and out the door, and I find my seat at the back of the class, my thoughts running amuck with Landon Crane.

;

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i know they're a crack!y pairing, but what do you guys think of nikki/landon?

review and landon'll give you a candy cane ;)


	5. Chapter 5

two days till christmas! dedicated to leesh and lisa and everyone who's read/reviewed/alerted this. this was supposed to be a little more deep, then i realized i can't write anything meaningful for shit.

songs; band aid '84 - do they know it's christmas and train - shake up christmas.

disclaimed.

* * *

five; **when the wolves come out to play**

;

"...one of those bright, cold, dazzling winter days, which bombard us with their brilliancy, and command our admiration but never our love."  
~ Lucy Maud Montgomery

;

I glance at my watch as Plovert paces up and down on the snowflake-littered path in front of me, the steam rising from the paper Starbucks cup in his hand, forming little clouds as it mixes with the chilly December air.

"I wish that retarded ginger would hurry up with her damn cinnamon cake." He huffs, stuffing his hands into his pockets. We're standing in the park, waiting for Dylan, who had slipped into Cinnabon because according to her, coffee chains were overrated. "I'm turning into a living icicle here."

To some extent, he's right. The tips of his ears were red and he kind of looks like an elf. His eyes slide over me, all the way from the top of my blonde head to the sneakers on my feet. "Mind telling me why you're not?"

I look down at the blue gym shorts and hoodie I'd paired it with, and shrug.

"You know she'll have you burned at the stake if she hears you call her that." His eyes narrow at me, a smirk curling my lips as I add, "And what can I say? I'm a freak."

"Damn right you are." He kicks at the snow, still sulking. Then his expression shifts. "Do you think Cam was acting weirdly today?"

I frown. "He was fine this morning when I saw him—"

I'm interrupted by Plovert's yell as a small grey blur jumps out from under the bench and lands on his lap, digging it's claws into his jeans.

"Holy _motherfu_—"

I clamp my gloved hand over his mouth as a mother standing a couple of metres away from us with a four-year-old girl shoots him a look, bending down to adjust the navy blue bow in her hair. Chris kicks his leg and sends the kitten flying, landing into a little heap near a tree, and glowers as it picks itself up, yowling, before flitting across the white landscape and disappearing into a bush.

"Let's keep this G-rated, 'kay?"

He sighs, slumping onto the nearest park bench, splaying his legs in front of him, and started picking the already-peeling faded green paint on the edge, where someone had scrawled _M+D forever_ in black magic marker. I sit down next to him, crossing my ankles.

"You know, this reminds me of when my parents would take me to see the Nutcracker every Christmas." I say, indicating at the snowy landscape strewn with trees, which the groundskeeper had decorated with glittering red and golden balls and a few Christmas lights scattered along the branches. It had that same magical feel as I imagined the the Land of Sweets in Confiturembourg would have, with the petals of pale sunlight casting shadows of the pine trees, and the snowflakes dancing around us.

Chris looks up, eyebrow lifted in disbelief. "You used to do _ballet_?"

I nod, grinning at him now. "Yeah, my mom made me when I was a kid. Want to see?"

I step up onto the bench, doing a twirl then jumping off again, landing neatly in the snow. Chris grins at me as I curtsy and I slide back onto the bench. "Very impressive."

The grey-and-white striped kitten darts out from under the tree again, approaching us charily. I hold out my hand and its small wet nose presses against the tip of my finger as it sniffs me. Satisfied, it purrs and curls around my feet. I bent down to rub the soft fur between its ears.

"Hey, Buttercup." Chris rolls his eyes at the gesture.

"So, has he asked you on a date yet?"

I glance at him, startled. "Who?"

"Why, Cameron Riley Fisher, of _course_." He enunciates the end mockingly.

"_Cam_?" I shake my head. "No."

He grins, cocking his head to the side, a few strands of hair falling into his dark eyes. "Aw, come on. You've liked him since what, first grade?"

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, as a _friend_." I roll my eyes, "You're such a typical guy, Plovert."

A mock expression of shock mixed with horror dances in his eyes, and he bumps my hip with his, reaching down to ruffle my hair.

I hit him in the shoulder. He laughs it off, still smirking. "Whatever. He _luuuurrrves _you."

He starts humming, and I stifle a groan, anticipating his next words.

"Nikki and Cammie, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-_oof_!"

The powdery snow hits him square in the nose, and he blinks, surprised. Then his surprise morphs into mock outrage, and he bends down, scooping up some more snow into his glove and sending it flying, entangling itself with my hair. I glare at him, but he doesn't pay attention because he's squinting at something behind me. I turn around, and Cam's standing outside a shop across the street talking to a raven-haired girl. His eyes meet mine and his lips twist into a sad smile.

I hear Chris asking me who she is, but I don't answer because my eyes are still locked on Cam's, sure that the confusion I felt must be written all over my face. Then the girl's lips start moving quickly, and his attention shifts back to her. They disappear around the corner without another glance at us.

"Who's that?" Chris asks again.

I turn around to face him again and give a small shrug, suddenly cold. My fingers weave through my hair, the ice melting at the contact, as Chris sits down on the bench, taking a sip from his paper cup with the familiar logo inscribed on it, his brows merged together in thought.

"Be careful, Plovert, think too hard and your head might explode."

I smile, shifting in my seat so my eyes rest on her familiar face, framed by her abundant titian hair, a luxurious blend of reds, golds and browns that contrasted nicely with her bright green eyes. The multi-coloured pop-pom hat still adorned her head.

"Hey, Dyl."

She grins back, linking her arm with mine, careful not to spill the coffee in my hand. "You ready?"

"Hey, you can't just _ditch_ me here!" Chris calls as we walk off, and Dylan laughs as she breaks into a run, pulling me with her.

"Watch us!"

;

"Niks, I just got home and, as always, chaos reigns supreme here. I'll call you later, okay?"

I take my key out of my coat pocket and unlock the door, a muffled _click_ sounding as it shut behind me. "Kay, bye." I snap the phone shut, placing it on the mantelpiece as I kick off my shoes, then head upstairs to my room. I walk over to the wardrobe, pulling off my coat and opting for a dark blue cardigan instead.

I jump the stairs two at a time, walking over to the blue-and-white kitchen cupboards and finding a glass, pouring myself some water. I bring the glass to my lips, and let the cold liquid cool my throat. I lean against the counter, my thoughts subconsciously drifting to Landon, and the day he found me out in the woods.

My thoughts are interrupted by a quick, impatient rapping on the door. I set down my glass and go to see who it is. When I open the door, Plovert is standing there, a cardboard box with the FedEx logo imprinted on it in his hands, his hair flecked with ice, a woolen hat squashing his unruly curls. "We have a doorbell, you know." I deadpan.

He ignores me, instead shaking his hair and sending stray droplets of ice spraying in every direction. "Do you have any idea what you two left me to face? Claire _freaking_ Lyons tried to talk to me."

I shrug. "So? She's nice."

He throws his hands up into the air, exasperated. "I don't_ care_ if she's nice! She's a stalker."

"Oh." I purse my lips, unsure of what to say. "What's that?" I ask, gesticulating at the box he's holding.

He shoves it at me. "For your mom." I raise an eyebrow, and he shrugs. "I don't know, some cookbooks or something."

"Okay." I pause. "Want to make cookies?"

He sighs defeatedly. "Only if they're snickerdoodles. Otherwise I'm putting my foot down."

Following me into the house, he slumps into an armchair as I go into the kitchen, his hand reaching for the remote as he flicks through the channels. "Dude, I can't believe you still have a fireplace here."

I roll my eyes, smiling as I raid the cupboards for the ingredients we needed; icing, cinnamon, eggs, baking soda, butter, all-purpose flour, and sugar. "First off, I'm not a dude," I say, reaching down to flick on the oven switch, "and second off, you have a fireplace too, dumbass. It's just electric."

He snorts, fingers playing with the cords on his hoodie, and his lips part as he initiates a retort. But before he can answer, the doorbell rings again. "You might take an example from this person, Plovert." I say, setting down the spatula I was holding and walking over to the door.

A cold gust of wind rushes in as the door swings open on its hinges, and my breath hitches in my throat.

Landon's gaze rakes over me, his blue-gray eyes startling under dark lashes. His dark brown hair is slightly tousled, growing down past the tips of his ears, the ends curling slightly as the wind flitted past him. Gazing at his lips, I found myself wondering what it would be like to trace my finger over them.

Pushing the thought to the back of my mind, I look down to what he's holding.

"My mom wanted me to give this to your mom." he says, handing me the elaborately decorated envelope. I hesitate, startled because there's something strange about him. His usually friendly eyes are hard, his clandestine emotions buried in their depths. His eyebrows are slanted and his lips are pressed together in a firm line.

"Yeah, well, she seems to be pretty popular these days." I mumble, averting my stare.

He stuffs his hands in his back pockets, and a slight breeze ruffles his dark hair. "Um, do you want to come in?"

He gives me a long, odd look, and my cheeks warm. "No," he says curtly. A muscle in his cheek moves. "I, uh, have to go." I frown, hurt and confusion filtering into my head. _What?_

Before I even have a chance to say 'goodbye', he's halfway across the path that leads to the gate, his posture stiff as he puts more distance between us. I swallow, then shake my head.

Pushing my irrational emotions aside, I walk back to the kitchen where Plovert is looking up at me expectantly. "Who was it?"

I give him a look I hope he interprets as nonchalant, my hair shielding the hurt in my eyes.

"No one."

;

* * *

definately not my best. but don't come after me with pitchforks, okay? instead, channel all that energy into being festive and maybe, just maybe, review?

falalalalalalalala.


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